


Shameless

by cracktheglasses (cormallen)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Butt Plugs, D/s, M/M, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormallen/pseuds/cracktheglasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>A picture when you’re done, Ben</i>, Hux says. <i>Show me what it looks like, in you</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shameless

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fic for the "what would you make me write" meme!

_Now_ , Hux texts him mid-morning, after Ben has already had three cups of coffee and sat through his Qualitative Research Methods seminar and History of New England both, taking quick notes about the decline of the textile industry in Lowell and Lynn.

He presses his messenger bag tightly to his side, and shivers as he swipes over the keys to respond.

 _I’m sorry, Sir_ , he writes back quickly; Hux has never once told him he needs to respond sooner, but Ben can’t stand to leave him without an answer for more than a few moments at a time. _I have a meeting with my Museology project group at 11:30. After that?_

Ben’s texts to Hux are always spelled out properly, no abbreviations, no emoji, and punctuation as correct as he can manage. Hux hasn’t specified this, either, but it’s another thing Ben feels he owes him under the overwhelming aegis of _I will be good. I swear. I want to be so good for you, Sir_.

His phone informs him Hux is typing, entering text; Ben grips at the thick, rubbery case, waiting, another little shiver working its way up his spine.

Hux expects for his tasks to be performed promptly; even though Ben’s offered an alternative, he is almost certain what the answer will be.

 _You ought to have plenty of time before then,_ Hux sends back.

Ben bites down on his lip. Hux knows, of course, it’s not the time that’s the concern. Knows that Ben isn’t sure if he’s going to be able to look Phasma and Mitaka in the eye after he’s done what Hux expects, isn’t sure if he’s going to be able to sit through their project meeting, squirming, legs crossing, uncrossing, hands clenching, as he tries to offer up suggestions and split up the workload.

Hux knows all this. Still, Ben’s screen lights up again.

 _A picture when you’re done, Ben_ , Hux says. _Show me what it looks like, in you_.

Ben swallows. Nods, as if Hux is there to see him.

 _Yes, Sir_ , he types out, and heads towards the library building; the bathroom by the reference section is spacious, and with stall doors going all the way to the tile floor.

It’s still lucky he’s the only one in there; Ben washes his hands first, mostly to get himself settled, and dries them meticulously with paper towel before hanging his bag on the hook inside the farthest stall. He thinks of locking the outer door, too, but that’s probably a sure way to invite some unwanted attention, so he resists the urge and walks into the stall, slides the lock to occupied and gets his bag open.

What he needs is in a small ziplock bag tucked into the inner pocket. He feels for it without looking, pulls it out from between his phone charger and heavy brass lighter, and then lets himself stare at the contents for a few moments through the clear plastic.

The plug isn’t too intimidating; maybe only as thick as two of Ben’s fingers, matte smooth black silicone that warms up quickly between his hands once he takes it out of the baggie. He feels at its blunt, rounded tip, the flared base, the wide, rubbery square at the bottom that’s going to keep it from sliding in all the way. Hux picked it out, would have made it a gift, but Ben blushed, stammered, finally managing to shape the words, that he’d never used one before. Had never had one used on him.

Hux smiled through the webcam at the admission, somewhere between wolfish and indulgent; Ben’s heart beat faster, blood rushing through his veins, whenever Hux looked at him like that. It made him want to kiss that dangerous mouth, to rub his cheek into Hux’s red stubble until his skin prickled and burned. Made him want to lie down and roll over and show belly, made him want to say yes to anything Hux demanded of him.

In the end, Hux made him place the order himself. “Get comfortable with it, Ben,” he said in his clipped, taut accent, and Ben shivered his shoulders. Lifted his hand over the touchscreen. Pressed ‘start checkout’.

Ben pulls his jeans and boxers all the way off, hangs them up on the same hook as his bag; he is stalling a bit and he knows it, imagining the way the plug is going to press up into him, stretch him, fill him up. It makes his belly clench, his cock jerk against his thigh. He’s been hard since Hux’s first text, cockhead slick and red, balls flushed and heavy, like he’s been conditioned to the buzz of the phone in his pocket, Hux’s name lit up across the screen.

He gets the bottle of lube out next, sets the plug in the baggie on top of the toilet lid and pops the bottle open, tips it over his fingers and rubs them together, getting them slicked up. It dribbles down off his hand, thick shiny droplets hitting the tile floor. Once he is satisfied that his fingers are nice and wet, Ben braces himself against the wall, spreads his legs and pushes one finger up into his hole to the knuckle.

It burns a little, his muscles gripping around it hard; Ben slides his finger carefully in and out a few times, feels himself relax and presses a little deeper. He’d never done this to himself before Hux; never done much of anything before Hux, really, but he’d wanted to, so much, pulling up the pictures and videos furtively on his laptop when his roommate was out, class, gym, work study.

Before he’d seen Hux’s face, in pictures first, and then on webcam, he’d wondered if he’d look like the men in the videos, the older ones, tattooed, salt and pepper running through their thick beards. They held their -- boys? subs? bottoms? -- down with heavy, muscled arms. Ben doesn’t like any of these terms for himself. He isn’t really sure what he is to Hux other than just his, Ben who is Hux’s, Ben who is for Hux, and besides, Hux is nothing like Ben had originally imagined, isn’t tanned or large or thickly built, doesn’t let that icy, accented voice go crude as he tells Ben what he’d like him to do next. Hux has delicate wrists and sharp, narrow shoulders. Ben thinks he could probably pick him up, easy, except for how much Hux would probably hate it and except that he’s an ocean away.

Ben sighs, fucking himself with just one finger still; he doesn’t want to get himself too loose for this, wants the satisfying, heady ache of the plug as it settles in him, the pressure of it shifting with his weight, with every movement he makes.

He slides his finger out, picks up the lube again and drizzles it over the smooth silicone, grasps it in one hand and smears the slick all around, watching the matte surface get gleaming wet. He feels the heat spreading all over his face, down his neck and chest below the collar. He must be bright pink, cheeks burning; Hux would want to see that, he knows. Ben grabs for his phone with his clean hand and resists the urge to shut his eyes as he snaps the selfie, his hair falling down into his furiously blushing face, lower lip hitched between his teeth in embarrassed excitement. He doesn’t hit send yet, will let Hux see this one along with the next one, the plug inside him, the black square base pushing into the meat of his ass.

It’s a little harder than he expected to do this by himself; as he leans back into the wall, he wishes Hux were there behind him, helping him work the plug into his asshole, slow, steady, sliding it in inch by inch. There is that strange, almost wrong sensation of being filled as the plug goes in, just the tip holding him open. Ben shifts his weight from foot to foot and pushes the wet silicone in farther, deeper, feels the flare of the base pop inside. It aches exactly like he wanted, the sides of it nudging at his inner walls, like fingers but wider, heavier, and Ben shivers with how good it feels, his cock hot and pulsing between his thighs.

He doesn’t touch it. Hux hasn’t given him permission to touch his dick yet, probably won’t until Ben shows him, until he’s satisfied with how well Ben’s worn the plug for him, all the rest of the morning and for however long he says after that.

He nudges the base of the plug, feels it rock a little inside him, its lubed width sliding just a little deeper, and can't help letting out a soft moan; it sounds too full, too loud, in the stall, like it's echoing off the walls.

Fuck. He’s not going to be able to do this; not at all. Not when the plug shifts like that inside him at the slightest touch, making his sight go blurry at the edges. He could probably blow off the meeting, and his afternoon class, but he would have to tell Hux, and Hux wouldn’t like that; he’s made it quite clear whenever Ben’s done it before.

Ben sighs. Wipes his fingers on a bit of toilet paper and reaches for his phone again, bends down and holds himself open with one hand as he snaps the shot with the other. A month or two ago, the idea of taking a picture of his spread open ass, the base of a plug protruding from his reddened, stretched out hole would have filled him with shame. Sending it to someone else for them to see, to judge, would have seemed unbearably, horribly filthy. It still is; a part of him doesn’t want to press send even as he does it. Another part of him -- the filthy one, Ben supposes, can’t wait for Hux to see the pictures. Can’t wait to see what he says in return.

 _Very good, Ben_ , the phone buzzes back almost immediately, and Ben beams.

 _Thank you, Sir_ , he replies, and waits for his next set of instructions.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://cracktheglasses.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
